“Help me pull this strand clear.” Thriftear’s mew made her turn. Her sister was tugging hard at a shriveled length of honeysuckle dangling from the wall of the elders’ den.
Bristlefrost hurried to help her and grabbed the stem with her claws. Pulling together, she and Thriftear drew it out.
Graystripe peered out through the gap they’d left. “What are you trying to do?” He ducked outside. “There’ll be a draft tonight, and you know how the cold makes Cloudtail’s bones ache.”
“Don’t worry.” Stemleaf padded from behind the den, where he’d been checking for more shriveled stalks. “I’ll bring bracken back from my patrol today and fix the holes before sundown.”
“I’ll help too.” Spotfur hurried to his side. She’d been helping Stemleaf behind the den, and honeysuckle sprigs stuck in her pelt. “Stemleaf would never want an elder to be cold.” She looked proudly at Stemleaf, as though it had been his idea to fix up the elders’ den in the first place.
Stemleaf puffed out his chest happily.
Irritated, Bristlefrost forced her fur flat. She should be glad that her denmates had been eager to help. And she had to get used to Stemleaf and Spotfur being so close. Her crush on the white-and-orange tom had been mouse-brained. It was obvious now that he’d only ever seen her as a friend. So he liked Spotfur—so what? There were plenty more mice in the forest. Thriftear caught her eye and pulled a goofy face, mimicking Spotfur’s wide-eyed admiration for Stemleaf. Her sister knew how she felt about the tom. Bristlefrost swallowed back a purr.
Spotfur blinked at her anxiously. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No!” Bristlefrost felt instantly guilty. It wasn’t Spotfur’s fault Stemleaf liked her. “I’m really glad you want to help fix up the elders’ den.”
Spotfur sat back on her haunches looking pleased. “We have to do something while we’re waiting for Squirrelflight to assign patrols. If we just sat around, we’d get cold.” She glanced around the camp, where her Clanmates were shifting their paws to keep warm, their breath billowing in the morning air.
Flamepaw and Finchpaw were nosing at the camp wall, sniffing for signs of prey, while Lilyheart and Cinderheart murmured quietly to each other. Flipclaw was playing moss-ball with Dewnose and Snaptooth nearby, lunging between his denmates to grab the tuft of moss they’d been chasing at the edge of the clearing. Bumblestripe and Lionblaze sheltered beneath the Highledge, while Rosepetal eyed the meager pawful of stale prey lying on the fresh-kill pile.
“When are we going out to train?” Across the clearing, Baypaw looked eagerly at Mousewhisker. “You promised to teach me about ShadowClan battle moves today.”
The young tom’s mentor glanced toward the Highledge. “We’ll leave when I know Squirrelflight doesn’t have other plans for us.”
Squirrelflight had only emerged from Bramblestar’s den for a few moments before dawn to assign the first patrol of the day. Bramblestar had called her back inside before she could organize the rest of the day’s duties. Since he’d lost a life, the ThunderClan leader preferred the quiet of his den, and he seemed to need Squirrelflight’s company more than a newborn kit. I can’t imagine losing a life, Bristlefrost thought. She guessed it would take a while to get over—the first time, at least.
Brightheart padded stiffly from the elders’ den. “Is any cat going to fix those holes?” She glanced ruefully at the gaps the young warriors had made in the walls of the honeysuckle den.
“Stemleaf and Spotfur are going to fetch bracken to fill them later,” Graystripe told her.
Bristlefrost blinked eagerly at the old she-cat. “The bracken will keep you warm until fresh honeysuckle grows in.” She felt sorry for the elders. They were too old to warm themselves up with a run through the forest.
“Good.” Brightheart turned away. As she padded back inside, the camp entrance shivered. The dawn patrol had returned.
Its leader, Thornclaw, stopped at the edge of the clearing. Hollytuft, Plumstone, and Eaglewing halted beside him, their eyes widening with surprise as they saw their Clanmates still in camp. “Haven’t the hunting patrols left yet?” Thornclaw eyed Lionblaze, puzzled.
Lionblaze shrugged. “We’re waiting for Squirrelflight.”
“I was looking forward to fresh prey when we got back.” Thornclaw glanced disapprovingly at the Highledge before padding to the fresh-kill pile. “Don’t expect much excitement when you go out,” he told Lionblaze as he picked up a shriveled mouse. “The forest is quiet today.” He carried to it to a patch of frost-scorched grass at the edge of the clearing, dropped it, and sat down. “But there are plenty of signs of prey on the WindClan border.” He blinked at the golden warrior. “It won’t take long to restock the fresh-kill pile.”
Lionblaze sniffed. “It should be full by now.”
“I’m not waiting any longer.” Mousewhisker got to his paws. He beckoned Baypaw with a flick of his tail. “Come on. We can’t sit around here all morning.” As he led his apprentice out of camp, Lilyheart hurried after him.
Cinderheart nodded to Finchpaw and Flamepaw. “We’ll go too,” she told them. “Border patrols will have to wait.”
As they padded out of camp, movement on the Highledge caught Bristlefrost’s eye. Squirrelflight slid out of Bramblestar’s den. She stood on the ledge and glanced down into the clearing, her gaze flicking toward the entrance as Finchpaw and Flamepaw filed out. “Are they going to train?” she called distractedly.
“Yes,” Lionblaze called up to her. “I can fetch them back if you want them on patrol.”
She shook her head. “No thanks.” She scrambled down the rock tumble. “Training is the best thing they can do.” She glanced around the clearing, as though focusing her thoughts.
Bristlefrost blinked at her eagerly, her pelt pricking with excitement as Bramblestar emerged from his den and made his way down the rock tumble to join Squirrelflight. The day could start properly now. She pricked her ears, wondering which patrol she would be assigned to.
“Lionblaze.” As Squirrelflight nodded to the golden warrior, Bramblestar’s gaze flitted curiously around camp. “Take Rosepetal, Bumblestripe, and Berrynose hunting.”
Bristlefrost watched Bramblestar. Since he’d lost a life, Bramblestar seemed to find the camp intriguing, as though it had changed. Every now and then he’d wander around the edges, and yesterday his nose had twitched, as though he’d been surprised by the smell of herbs, when he’d gone into the medicine den. She wondered if losing a life made a leader forget the life before, so that everything afterward seemed strange.
“Thornclaw says there are signs of prey on the WindClan border,” Lionblaze told Squirrelflight. “Should we hunt there?”
“Yes.” Squirrelflight gazed at the trees. “But be careful not to chase prey across the scent line. Now that we’ve finally worked out the borders, we don’t want to confuse them again.” She nodded to Cherryfall. “Take Poppyfrost, Sparkpelt, and Stormcloud and refresh the border markers.”
“The WindClan ones?” As Cherryfall blinked at Squirrelflight, Bramblestar padded closer to the fresh-kill pile.
“No. Start with SkyClan,” Squirrelflight told her. “They refreshed their markers yesterday, and I want to make sure that our scent line is as clear as—”
“Is the fresh-kill pile always so poorly stocked?” Bramblestar interrupted her. He poked at the damp shrew that was all that was left of yesterday’s prey.
Squirrelflight looked at him, her gaze gentle. “It’s early,” she mewed apologetically. “I haven’t had time to organize the hunting patrols. It’ll be well-stocked later.” She turned back to Cherryfall. “Try and catch some prey while you’re out. I’m afraid I’m a little behind—”
“Why are we repairing the elders’ den?” Bramblestar had crossed the clearing and was sniffing at the withered stems Bristlefrost and Thriftear had tugged from the walls.